overworked & under Fucked!
By The Silken Serpen
We excitedly invited my husband's long-time friend, L, into our open marriage, thinking it would be a breeze just letting an old friendship evolve into something fun and carefree. L and my husband go way back, having been friends since childhood, with nothing romantic between them, just innocent games of “seven minutes in heaven.” That's it! My husband and I generally like to mix things up. If we see a girl on a date night who sparks our interest, we'll invite her over for the night. So, I thought, “Why not your friend L? It’ll be enjoyable; it won’t be awkward.”
The atmosphere was electric as L and I settled next to each other, perfectly aligned in a playful 69 position. Our bodies intertwined like the moon meeting the tide, skin warm and slick with the gentle build-up of anticipation. My head rested just above her hips while her face hovered near mine, our lips and breaths mingling as we playfully explored each other.
Meanwhile, my husband moved with a determined intensity, his hands gliding over my bare curves, skillfully guiding me closer to the warmth of L's mouth. Then, his kiss found me—pressing deeply in my throat while his tongue danced at the entrance of my desire.
At the same time, L responded with warm, inviting lips, wrapping around him and teasing him delightfully. Her hands tangled in his hair at the nape of his neck, urging him deeper, as my fingers explored her waist, tracing her smooth contours like silk.
My breath hitched as his tongue moved within me, a mix of softness and urgency. I returned the pleasure, tasting sweat and longing as I explored the arch of L's spine. The delightful pressure from my husband traded between us—one moment lingering on me, coaxing soft sighs, then turning his attention to L with a passionate devotion.
Our bodies, glistening with heat, moved together seamlessly. L’s gentle moans whispered in my ear while my own connected with the soft gasps echoing between us. My hips responded to her teasing flicks, and I pressed my fingers into my husband's back, feeling the strength beneath my touch.
He navigated his way between us, growling softly against L’s skin before slipping back between my thighs, contrasting sharp bites with tender licks. His hands explored with the same enthusiasm—stroking, gripping, and sliding in rhythm with the vintage 80s power ballads that filled the air.
Time seemed to stretch, melting into an intimate exchange of mouths and hands, bodies pressed together in a sensual triangle balanced on soft murmurs and shared promises. I felt every part of L—the warmth of her breath, the bliss of her lips, and the delightful heat of her body as we mirrored each other's movements, our pleasure intertwining.
However, beneath the thrill of desire, a weight lingered. I held the rhythm as best I could, guiding us along, but L resisted, her touch both gentle and deliberate, clearly marking her territory. Her fingers traced possessively down my husband’s chest, tightening over his hips, her gaze full of intensity and challenge.
When the music shifted to a slow, haunting 80s tune, the mood thickened. L nestled closer to him beneath the sheets, a shadow that wouldn’t let go. Her fingers drew a slow, possessive line across him, sending shivers down my spine. The power dynamics shifted. She burrowed into him, whispering in his ear, lingering like an impending storm. What started as playful turned into a tug-of-war; she showed no signs of leaving. As the night went on and I discreetly hinted that I needed to go—work was calling, the hour was late—she stood her ground, stating, “Now that I’ve had him,” she said, her voice low, almost possessed, “I’m not letting go.”
That moment shattered the room. The music faltered, the bed turned cold and cramped. My husband called the cops, and they pulled her from our bed, but her presence refused to fade. Even now, the letters come, obsessive and pleading for a permanent place between us—a throuple fantasy spiralling into something darker.
That night, the air crackled with energy—music from the 70s and 80s seeped through the walls, creating an electric atmosphere. Our bed became a battleground of power, passion, and possession.
